The Dark Sacred Night
by Dave Ziegler
Summary: What do we possess? What do we desire? Are the answers as real as they seem? Tsukino Ikuko faces it all.


Disclaimer: Pretty Soldier Sailor Moon belongs to Takeuchi Naoko, not me.  
No money is being made off this work; it's all for the fun and enjoyment of us fans. Thanks much.

"The Dark Sacred Night"  
By Dave Ziegler

Stars could not compare, Ikuko thought. While magnificent and awesome, their fire could not so elegantly illume the darkness nor kindle the rapturous thrum of her heart with such little effort as the twin candles resting in front of her. They were only an arm's reach away, tiny beads of flame atop waxy rose-  
scented stems; so small and insignificant, yet they adorned the stoneware in subtle pageantry and were a sparkling centre to the wheel of flowers that decorated the table's edges. The mingled fragrances only furthered her giddiness and yearning for her husband's presence.

Patience, Ikuko reminded herself. If the occasional aromas escaped from the kitchen were anything to judge by, Kenji would be along soon enough. And as much as Valentine's Day rendered her an antsy child spoiling for her birthday presents, it was more important to indulge Kenji rather than kowtow to romantic fancy. He rarely had time to cook anymore and loved it so; Ikuko felt partially responsible for the loss. She could have more aggressively fought his assumption of financial responsibility for their lives, but Kenji's desire to 'make her a queen' appealed too greatly to her poetic vanity.

He had never lapsed in that promise, made a lifetime ago on the cramped balcony of their first apartment amid the summer swelter. The good times came and went as fate dictated, and through it all Kenji did not complain, did not allude to the need for more money. He'd force his way into a position for overtime or work a second job, and then laugh the stress off as merely his right to sustain her until they had found their castle. That, he'd sworn, would require more attending to than he could ever manage.

The memories warmed Ikuko's lips into a slow smile. The years had been many and exquisite, and though her hair shone more silver than indigo now, and her fingers were less sure of themselves, she could not help but anticipate the further happiness their life together would bring.

"Mama!"

Ikuko cringed as the sudden, nebulous cry redoubled down the staircase, seized her mood by the throat, and fiercely shook it, like a wolf snapping the neck of its prey. There had to be something wrong with that child, she thought abysmally. Ikuko had begged, ordered, and then bartered for a peaceful evening: eventually they had come to an agreement, or so she had thought. Perhaps it would have been better to tape the terms to the girl's forehead, so that 'Absolutely No Screeching' waved forever in front of her eyes.

"Mama!"

Ikuko sighed, and then rose to her feet. She followed the continuing cries into the living room and through to the base of the staircase, determined to quickly end the caterwauling before it disturbed Kenji. It was strange, though. Now that she stood here, the voice no longer seemed to ring through the stairs. Instead, it sounded as if it were trying to buffet the front door from its hinges.

"Mama!"

Sound exploded from the kitchen; it spun Ikuko about and raced her through her previous steps, but before she could even reach the dining room, the cacophonous call was twisting her in yet another direction.

"What? Where are you?" Ikuko pleaded.

The voice gave no answer, save to beckon for her yet again. Its timbre was now strained and apprehensive. Ikuko could feel the fear beating through the air and rattling her chest like the thrumming of a great drum. It overpowered her, brought her to her knees, wrapped around her and began to squeeze…

"Mama!"

Ikuko woke.

Her eyes opened hesitantly, levering apart bit by bit as if horizontal blinds admitting the morning's first light. The world that greeted her was strange. It was too bright, everything positively glowed. And the smell was confounding. Christmas, New Year's, Birthdays, Valentine's: every pleasant holiday smell suffused the room in a miasma of happy.

Then there was the girl. No, Ikuko corrected herself after her eyes adjusted. While the girl's face and form were still youthful, they held the shape and weight of adulthood. This was a woman.

"Thank goodness," the woman in question uttered breathlessly. She took hold of Ikuko's hand and smiled down at her. "How are you, Mama?"

Ikuko did not know what to do. How should you respond when a stranger inquires after your health; for that matter, how should you respond to waking up in a unknown place, with said stranger clutching your hand like a toddler and calling you 'mama?'

"Why am I in bed?" she eventually answered.

The young woman kept her kindly smile in place, and said, "Because you're resting."

"Who are you?" Ikuko snapped. She didn't like the girl's … the young woman's vague answer, and wrenched her hand free from the offending grasp.

The woman's smile wavered for a moment, but firmed quickly and even stretched. She blinked a mere nothing from her eyes, and settled their gentle regard on Ikuko once again. "It's me, Mama."

Ikuko stared up at the woman, suddenly ignorant of what was still being said. Something had just crawled across her mind, leaving a messy trail of half-  
thoughts and memories like a slug's oozing wake. It had all started with those eyes: large, luminous, expressive. They had reminded her of something. What was it again? Everything blue, everything gold, the autumn rain, the spring thaw, the summer breeze, a mother's love: she was an encapsulation of all.

"Usagi?" Ikuko wondered.

The woman's delicate words halted, and for a second time her ever-present smile fleetingly cracked. She thumbed a length of her white-blonde hair in an erratic pattern, before steadying herself and nodding slowly. "That's right, Mama. It's Usagi."

"I'm so sorry, dear," Ikuko apologized. She felt an unbearable fool for not recognizing her own daughter. All those thoughts of this being a young woman before her - sheer silliness. Good grief, Ikuko prayed she wasn't going mad. It was all the result of too much time in the hospital, she thought, for Ikuko had determined the hospital to be her current location.

"I think," she continued, "I was just taken aback, because I was expecting your father."

"You were?"

"Of course, I was. Your father visits me very often," Ikuko emphatically stated. "And it's … it's Valentine's Day isn't it? He would never miss that."

"Actually, it's White Day, Mama." Her daughter suddenly proffered two lavender wrapped packages. "They're chocolates from Papa and Shingo."

"Oh. Is it?" Ikuko muttered, while accepting the chocolates with shaky hands. She let them drop to the bedside almost immediately. "That was sweet of Kenji to remember, despite everything. I knew he would. He's not the type of man to forget something like that." Ikuko paused, then began again tremulously. "Still, why wouldn't he come to see me himself? I want to see him. He does still want to see me, doesn't he?"

A warm hand enfolded Ikuko's own, and it was as if she had been instantly attired in simmering bath water. The empty chill that had squatted in her chest packed and fled, and her trembling eased into relaxation.

"Of course, he does," her daughter soothed. "Papa just … he volunteered to chaperone the dance at Chibi-Usa's school. He had his name down as soon as she said she was going."

Ikuko chuckled. "That does sound like him, doesn't it?" She smiled as best she could, and looked gratefully to the young woman at her bedside. The young woman? "That's a pretty dress," Ikuko began slowly, eyeing her companion's gown. "Is it your gift?"

"That's right. It's my present from," the words stuck in her daughter's throat, "…from Mamo-chan. Do you like it?" she hastily asked.

Ikuko looked away from the young woman with the desperate smile, and regarded the magnificent wall beyond her bed. It seemed to be fashioned from crystal, like the finest western dinnerware, and it showed Ikuko something of which she had not previously been aware.

It showed her an old woman.

"Serenity," Ikuko uttered, inciting a gasp from her companion, "do you still attend your father's grave?"

The pressure on her hand doubled. "Of course!" Serenity cried. "Every month! I would never forget Papa or Shingo. Never!" Those passionate, trembling words gave voice to her daughter's heart, and Ikuko knew then the truth of everything Serenity said.

"Thank you." Ikuko returned Serenity's fierce grip with a feeble squeeze. "He swore his life to me, and lived by that, and I…" The words were suddenly gone. They crept away with the orange blossom of the setting sun. Ikuko tongued her teeth, licked her lips, and squeezed shut her eyes, but nothing forced them back.

"What is it, Mama?"

"I don't know. Oh, it's this hospital!" she suddenly seethed. "It's getting to me. I'm better now! Why don't they release me?"

Serenity dropped her mother's hand and stood. She quickly fled the bedside, and rested her head against the room's door.

Ikuko didn't notice her daughter's departure, or take note of the poorly stifled gasps that welled with regularity from that direction. She merely conversed with herself, alternating between agitated dismissal of doctors, nervous questioning of Kenji's welfare, and reasoned counterarguments against both, until a single word from Serenity extinguished the diatribe.

"Mother."

Ikuko turned and noticed the girl arriving at her bedside. "Usagi, how nice to see you."

"Mama," Serenity replied. "I think you should rest."

"Rest? How long have I been up?"

Ikuko found herself eased into bed, covered in blankets, and nestled against quickly fluffed pillows before she could voice further dissention. It was all very comfortable and considerate, she just wasn't sure she felt tired.

"You look a little worn. The rest will do you good." Her daughter suddenly held out a small gleaming jewel that entranced Ikuko. "Here," she continued, "this will help you sleep, I promise. Just place your hand in mine, cup the crystal, and wish for a deep sleep with happy dreams."

Ikuko slowly extended her hand, and settled it atop her daughter's. At once, her palm felt alive with heat, a tangled swirling fire that was the kinetic energy of possibility. She moved to pull away, but the soft reassurances of Serenity stayed her hand. The fire raced through Ikuko's palm and coursed toward her mind. It fashioned a web about her thoughts, combing through them with the delicate hand of an archaeologist, all the while unerringly guided by fierce pulses of emotion.

"Dream, Mama," Serenity whispered. "Dream without end. I love…"

. . .love. . .

. .love. . .

.love. . .

"Love!"

Ikuko woke.

She started, tumbling out of her chair and into the quick hands of her husband. He steadied her, while Ikuko glanced about, blinking in question at the comfortable room, prepared table, and smoking candles.

"Sorry about that," Kenji apologized. "I should've woke you up with less shaking. Kisses would have worked better, now that I think about it. Oh, on that note," he continued, guiding Ikuko back to her seat, "Usagi's safely jailed at Rei-chan's. Must have taken me longer than I thought, if…"

"Kenji!" Ikuko blurted, seizing her husband's forearm and yanking him into her embrace. "I love you!" She snuggled desperately against him.

"What's all this?" he asked, startled. "I know it's Valentine's…"

"I love you!" Ikuko reiterated, desperate to force the conviction of her emotion past all social ritual.

There was a moment's silence, and then Ikuko felt the light touch of Kenji's lips as he slowly kissed the tears from her face. She tingled brilliantly at each of the numerous touch-spots, and relaxed against him as his fingers worked along her back.

"You say that now," Kenji murmured huskily in her ear, "but shouldn't you reserve judgment until after I've attempted to reheat dinner?"

Ikuko trembled, snorted, and then descended into rolling laughter. Only Kenji could quip at such a time, and actually make her feel better.

This was them, their relationship, their love.

Ikuko moved forward. 


End file.
